


i don't want this to sound like we're about to depart

by lawltam



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Angst, Gen, Happy Ending, its kinda just sad, mentions of injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-18
Updated: 2019-07-18
Packaged: 2020-07-08 02:47:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19862242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lawltam/pseuds/lawltam
Summary: five times jaemin felt lost and confused because of his injury and one time he doesn't.





	i don't want this to sound like we're about to depart

**Author's Note:**

> my first nct fic,, i've been working on this for a few weeks its like my baby now please be nice

**one.**

Jaemin remembers the first time NCT Dream had walked on the stage as six members; it had been for their ‘My First and Last’ promotion. He was in his living room, sprawled over the couch because his mom was getting groceries and his dad was busy filing documents at work. But it was fine; he much rather preferred the Dreamies’ stage presence over his parents’ unwanted one. At least like this, he could simply marvel at his friends without pestering remarks from his parents. 

Donghyuck had blown up Jaemin’s phone the previous night with loud messages written in bold capital letters and colourful emojis, reminding the younger one to watch their performance on tv and to send praises and reactions afterwards. Jaemin was barely able to have a still screen without a notification from the top of screen sliding down with a _donghyuck has sent a message!_ It wasn’t like Jaemin wasn’t already planning to watch their performance, but Hyuck’s sunny personality that shone through the small letters of his crappy phone screen were still appreciated. 

He was looking forward to this stage for as long as he could remember, perhaps even more than the Dream members themselves. From his silent days of moping around an empty house, this would be a break from his boring hiatus life. At least he could watch someone else do what he couldn’t - what he wanted.

He remembers the light shining on Haechan as he sang the intro (he would clown him for his hair another day.) He had smiled at the way they all danced in unison, at the way the crowd perfected the fanchants and at the way they pulled off the stage flawlessly, chests heaving. He had felt incredibly proud, watching his bandmates - his friends - be showered with such praise and applause that he almost felt envious.

Almost.

(It was painfully familiar, and Jaemin could remember exactly what it was like to be on that very stage, mirroring his bandmates’ movements and seeing a crowd of people watching him, adoration in their eyes.)

When the stage ended, he lunged for his phone across the couch, typing in shaky capital letters how cool they all looked, and how proud he was, then threw the device across the room; it clattered against the wall and onto the floor, where it laid lifeless - void of any notifications. He omitted the part where he felt as if a piece of his heart was ripped out of his chest. He couldn’t burden them with his useless feelings of monachopsis, not when it was _their_ time to shine.

(Maybe, in another world, Jaemin’s time as well.)

That night, when he went to bed, he couldn’t quite tell if the light and nauseating feeling in his chest was pride or a strange sense of feeling out of place, and, underneath the dull navy sea of the sky, Jaemin felt minuscule.

**two.**

Jaemin had all the time in the world, but he didn’t spend it moping around in his house, rotting and becoming one with his mattress. He couldn’t do that even if he tried. 

What he did do instead, is attend NCT Dream’s comeback shows. At least, the ones his mother allowed him to go to. But he tried his best to go to all (which, frankly, wasn’t saying much.)

When NCT Dream finally came back with ‘We Young’, Jaemin had felt well enough to go to their comeback stage. It had taken days of convincing his mother, but she was never one to refuse her son’s wishes. He had reassured her, telling her that he would be going with his manager. (Not that they would’ve let him go without him.) He tried to look as non-conspicuous as possible, donning a face mask, bucket hat and baggy clothes. (But in retrospect, that’s exactly what an idol would wear to avoid being recognized.)

He remembers standing in the audience, leg jittery and phone in hand, texting the Dream group chat. They didn’t know he was in the crowd, and they weren’t going to. He would absolutely hate it if they tried to go meet him after the stage, lips curling in pitiful smiles when they would see him.

(And yet, the thought of them doing precisely what he doesn’t want sent a fluttering feeling in his chest that tightened his throat just a tad.)

When the lights had finally died down and all Jaemin could hear were the cheers of the fans, he almost felt like throwing up. It was a rush of emotions and sensations - overwhelming loud yells, bright lights and a sudden heat that could rival the sun. It all clashed against the desire to stay, to watch his friends perform with his own two eyes. After all, it had been so long since he’s seen them. 

When the song started and he could finally see, under a kaleidoscope of colours and smiles, the rest of NCT Dream, he can’t help but grin. He had sung along to whatever lyrics that he knew, made eye contact with Renjun and Jeno, and, among all the fans that were there, he had a suspicion that they realized it was him. 

When the last note of the song played, the room was hit with thunderous applause and cheers, rattling his ear drums: a bizarre sound that felt weirdly enjoyable without his in-ear pieces. At the end of their stage, they had lined up at the front, and Jaemin, from his spot in the center of the floor, could barely make out Mark’s head. 

“One, two, three! To the world, we are NCT Dream!” 

Jaemin found himself mimicking their movements, lips whispering an echo of Mark’s words. He couldn’t help it; it was instinctive. 

(But it wasn’t something that he was supposed to - _meant to_ \- do. At least, not anymore.)

He felt his entire world stop on its axis and flip around. Suddenly the room filled with the same overwhelmingly loud yells, the same bright light and the same heat that rivalled the sun, but it all felt insufferable. It wrapped around his throat and choked the air out of his lungs. He took a step back and looked back at the stage. 

He saw the ghost of himself, standing beside Jisung and wearing similar clothes to the rest of the team, smiling and looking proud, as if he hadn’t suffered an injury that could cost him his career. He saw this ghost of his grin, make eye contact with the physical him that stood among a crowd of teenage girls. 

He needed to go. 

The kaleidoscope of colours and cheers blinded him, and it all became too much for him. Jaemin took in a sharp intake of breath, stumbling backwards. He ran past his manager, ignoring his calls. Ran past the guards at the exit, and as fast away from the venue as possible with his own two legs. 

He found himself in a park, a few streets from the Han river. At least it was relatively empty, with it being the middle of the day after all. He fished out his phone from his pockets, typing out a _congrats on the comeback!! jeno-ah and renjunnie, did you happen to see me from the stage? (*≧∀≦*)_ with shaky hands. He didn’t want his members to worry about him. 

(Not that they would.)

(If they were even _his_ members anymore.)

He caught his own reflection in his phone’s black screen: red cheeks from exertion, a bird’s nest of hair. He could just imagine how he looked like to other people - a kid out alone, not at school, looking like a pure delinquent. It certainly wasn’t the highest point of his life. 

(No, of course not. He _knows_ what the highest point of his life was - standing side by side with six other boys, eyes blinded by all the brightness and applause. He had been sweaty and tired, but the lights of the crowd washed it all away. All he could feel was a warm sensation bubbling up his chest, threatening to make him erupt into tears.)

“Fuck,” he whispered, to no one in particular, the word falling heavy and bitter on his tongue. There wasn’t anyone who would listen to him, at two o’clock in the afternoon, in a deserted park. He wanted to hide, to run away to a place where he could let out all his frustrations, but he was chained to this bustling metropole that had too many people who knew his name. 

He wondered if he made the mistake of joining SM, but the thought disappeared with a shake of his head. He couldn’t fall down that rabbit hole - not now, not ever. He doesn’t think he’ll ever regret joining the company. He’s made too many meaningful memories and met too many fundamentally important people that he could never. He wouldn’t allow himself to.

Above him, the summer sky hummed with a heated energy that climbed down Jaemin’s sweater covered back unpleasantly. Not a single cloud in sight, and yet he still felt as if a sudden sadness had rained down onto him. He looked up, blinded by the clear blue of it all.

Disquiet filled his heart, making it feel heavier than the poisonous thoughts that rest on his shoulders like ten pound weights. 

**third.**

Jaemin didn’t remember the last time he’s had a conversation with the other Dreamies. He couldn’t bring himself to pick up his phone and ask them to meet up. They probably didn’t have any time for him at all, with all the We Young promotions going on. That was fine; he had better things to do. More bugs in his backyard to befriend, more rocks in the street to kick. He was fine without them.

(But that’s not what he thinks when he’s alone in his room, eyes trailing from the cracks in the ceiling to the curve of his desk chair. His sleep-muddled mind wanders; it walks through national parks, it hikes the tallest of all mountains. It takes him back to the NCT Dream dorm, where he can see Donghyuck in the common room, head in Mark’s lap and watching whatever crappy movie was playing on the tv. He can see Renjun and Jeno in the kitchen, trying their damn best to make some mediocre boxed cake and failing horribly because Jeno set the oven to the wrong temperature. He can see Jisung and Chenle snuggled against each other on the couch, sharing Chenle’s phone and playing a game half-assedly. He can see all this, but he simply cannot imagine what it was like to actually be there. He was, once a time ago, but he simply cannot remember.) 

Jaemin, nestled in a seat of the bus that passed by his house every morning, scrolled through his twitter timeline. His manager hadn’t let him get an account, but it’s not like he needed to know; as long as his account was private and locked, then there really wasn’t any harm. He read through the replies on the NCT Dream pictures, smiling slightly at the several mentions of his name in the tweets. He couldn’t interact with his fans, but at least they still remember him. 

(Not for long, though.)

He realized, six months into his hiatus, that he misses his bandmates. Of course, he always did; there was always a lingering feeling of longingness whenever he watched one of their Vlives. Do they know that he’s watching their shows? That he craves Haechan hugs, and Renjun’s impromptu vocal warm ups in the shower, and Jisung dancing to Mark’s speeches prior to a show, and Chenle and Jeno’s laughs coming from the common room at midnight? 

He couldn’t quite remember the last time they talked, either face to face, or even had a conversation over Kakaotalk. He sees their icons whenever he logs on, sees the few messages between the members in the Dream chat (at least, the one he’s in.) 

Jaemin didn’t exactly mind anymore (a lie), but there wasn’t much he could do about it. They were all busy with promotions - he just had to wait until his back got better, which, was actually progressing. His doctor had given him the green light to continue doing some light exercise, such as half-hour jogs. It wasn’t much, but it was certainly an improvement. 

(It was nothing compared to being able to dance again, though. To move his body freely, let the music wash over his senses in the form of coordinated movements and pops and locks. He missed that, and he missed the dance practice room with the windows that he can crack open to let in the summer breeze, occasionally waving to a fellow member who would coincidentally be outside at the same time. He missed the smell of freshly wiped dance floors, of the crappy air freshener plugged in the socket in the back of the room that smelled like burnt lemon. He missed looking at his reflection in the dance studio and seeing himself uninjured and with his members.)

Jaemin looked up and watched as houses passed by the bus windows. He couldn’t quite hear anything through the music playing in his earphones, but he could imagine it all: the engine of the vehicle, the conversation of the two old ladies sitting three rows behind him, the tapping of his foot on the floor. He took a steady breath and his gaze dropped back down to the black screen of his phone: no new notifications. Nothing he didn’t expect. In fact, he was rather used to it by now - the only notifications he got nowadays were spam emails from webtoons sites. 

(He remembers hundreds of texts exploding his phone, messages exchanged in the NCT group chat, of Johnny and Haechan sharing memes of themselves they found on Twitter. He remembers ignoring the messages because he wanted to play games, or to sleep, but then giving in to the urge to join in the conversation, fingers typing in keyboard smashes and kaomojis.)

Outside the scratched bus window, he could see the clouds’ slow crawl across the sky, swirls of greys and whites blending together in vague shapes. The sight was almost mesmerizing, simply watching the clouds move at their own pace, which seemed exceptionally slow in contrast to the bus’ nonstop movement. The distraction was welcoming, to say the least. 

The next time Jaemin checked his phone in that single bus ride, he didn’t feel the usual pinch in his heart at the lack of messages. Or rather, he had gotten used to it.

**four.**

Jaemin saw them, at the park. Filming something, probably. Or maybe they were just hanging there, as teens do. They didn’t notice him - at least, not at first. But when he tried his absolute hardest to look as inconspicuous as possible? He must’ve looked as obvious as a cat out of its bag. From over the rim of the most opaque sunglasses he had, he spotted Chenle and his fading purple-dyed hair, standing stark against the green grass and brown tree trunks. Beside him, Jisung seemed so much taller than the last time Jaemin had seen him, royal blue locks crowning the head of this rather scrawny teen. Jeno and Renjun were off somewhere, filming something near the river - Jaemin couldn’t quite see. 

“Ah, is that Jaemin-ah?” He vaguely heard, from just a few feet away. Jaemin felt his blood run cold in his veins and it took all his willpower to stop himself from turning around at the sound of his name. He didn’t want them to know he was here; it would truly be the worst thing ever. He couldn’t let them see him like this; this isn’t what he wanted. This didn’t represent what his progression was: not this messy haired disaster with ten pound bags under his eyes, sitting alone in the park. This wasn’t the version of himself that he wanted them to see. 

He coughed into his fist, stood up and, without looking up from the phone clenched in his fist, walked away in long strides. He might’ve _accidentally_ bumped into Jeno’s shoulder, and Jeno might’ve looked at him walk away with the saddest smile, the ghost of his name on the tip of his tongue, but Jaemin would never know. He didn’t spare a look back; he was too busy fighting the urge to pinch Renjun’s cheeks, or tickle Jisung’s sides. Maybe even ruffle Haechan’s flashy red hair, or jump on Mark’s back, telling him to run like he was a horse. He had to fight the urge to attempt to scoop up Chenle in his arms (as if his frail little body would allow that) or run up to Jeno and demand that he catch him in his arms.

“Wait, shit, it is,” Mark mumbled to Donghyuck, eyes trailing over the hooded figure of Jaemin and simply letting him walk away. The six members of Dream froze, staring in the direction of their member in flight. How could they possibly call out to him, when they haven’t talked in weeks? Merely dry texts from Jaemin, him wishing them superficial wishes for their next performance, and them replying with a thanks. For all they knew, would he even return to the group? Injuries and hiatuses happen, but to someone who debuted at the age of 16? They wanted to hold on to the hope that he would eventually be let into the group for the next comeback, but even the leader didn’t know. 

“I’m gonna go talk to him,” Donghyuck declared, gaze set in stone. He prepared himself to break into a sprint, but Renjun caught his elbow. 

“Don’t. Manager-nim is going to yell at us if you do. Just text him later.” Renjun frowned and let go of Hyuck’s elbow. 

“But it won’t be the same!” Donghyuck whined, stomping a foot on the grass. He crossed his arms over his chest, jutting his bottom lip out. If this was his attempt at aegyo-ing Renjun to let him go, it certainly wasn’t working. 

“I know, Haechannie, but we can’t. We just–”

“Just can’t.” Mark filled in. Renjun nodded. 

“I miss him,” Jisung said quietly, and the six boys fell into a ear-ringing silence. He scrunched his nose, and if anyone noticed the way his voice trembled just the slightest, they didn’t say anything. 

“Yah, Jisung-ah! Don’t worry too much about it!” Chenle suddenly exclaimed, throwing an arm over the youngest’s shoulders. He ruffled Jisung’s hair, ignoring the whines of complaint from said boy. “Jaemin is going to come ‘round and talk to us soon, I know it. He’s one of us, after all.”

Jeno grinned, eyes curving into crescent moons. Truly Dream’s happy pill, that kid. “Exactly. Don’t be so sad, you guys. Jaemin’ll be back soon.”

**nct dream ╰(*´︶`*)╯♡**

**jeno:** jaemin yah!!!

 **jeno:** answer your phone!!!!

 **jaemin:** yes jeno (*ﾟ▽ﾟ*)

 **jisung:** god not those emoticons again

****

**jaemin:** ᕦ(ò_óˇ)ᕤ

 **chenle:** omg jisung stop i think they’re cute

 **jisung:** you have no rights big head

 **mark:** please behave yourselves

 **haechan:** y’all wildin

 **renjun:** jeno what did you want to say

 **jeno:** oh yeah

 **jeno:** i almost forgot

 **jeno:** jaemin

 **jaemin:** yeah

 **jeno:** we love you

 **jaemin:** wow thats a bit out of the blue but

 **jaemin:** aWH IT TOOK YOU LONG ENOUGH TO ADMIT IT ☆*:.｡. o(≧▽≦)o .｡.:*☆

 **jaemin:** i’m so honoured to be the object of your love \\(//∇//)\

 **renjun:** nevermind we take it back

Jaemin’s eyes reread the lines of words on his screen, watching as the number of messages increased until suddenly it felt as if he wasn’t even part of the conversation in the first place. Not a single mention of ‘Nana’, or ‘Jaemin’ since the beginning of the conversation, which might seem conceited or something, but all Jaemin felt was an emotion bubble up his throat, then dissipate as soon as he closed his phone, Do Not Disturb mode in full swing. 

He shoved his face into his pillow and sighed into the heap of feathers and cloth. 

**five.**

Jaemin was going to come back with Dream. He let his phone drop from his ear into his lap, a shaky sigh - trembling and nervous - escaping from his lips. His manager had decided to let him know as soon as he got confirmation, which meant that it was all real. He was finally going to reappear on stage, standing tall amongst a group of seven boys with shattered childhoods. 

Jaemin felt a tear slip down the curve of his cheek before he could stop it - a trace of wetness that, under the morning light dripping through the gaps of his curtain, he could see as clear as day in the mirror across his room. From the corner of his eye, he saw his phone light up once with the notification of a message, then twice, three times, until it vibrated with texts and calls. 

He pocketed the device, grabbed a hat and mask and left the comfort of his parents’ house, with no particular destination, but with the very clear objective of clearing his mind.

When Jaemin walked back into the SM building, three days after his comeback’s confirmation, he wasn’t quite sure what he was expecting. Of course, he had come unannounced, fearing a huge celebration in the name of his return. Yet, obviously, he didn’t expect an eerie normalcy when he stepped foot past the glass doors. There was a different receptionist behind the counter, who didn’t quite recognize him when he greeted her.

“I’m not here for practice or anything. Just to visit. Don’t tell anyone, okay?” He flashed his idol smile, and she nodded her head. She tried to hand him a visitor’s pass, but he refused with a shake of his head and went into the elevator, feet moving on muscle memory towards the NCT practice rooms. He hiked his mask slightly higher on the bridge of his nose and lowered his dad cap just a hair more. He doubted anyone would realize it was him; he was still going through his growth spurt and was in the later half of the awkward years of puberty, but precautions were precautions.

The silver elevator doors opened, and Jaemin let out a rather shuddering breath before walking out, eyes glued to the tip of his scuffed-up old school Vans. As he strolled past the room being used for a meeting between the managers, he stilled at the sight of the Dream practice room. Through the small glass rectangle in the door, he could see movement in the parallel mirror. A blurred flash of blue and purple, and whatever pop music that was playing stopped, replaced instead with boisterous laughter and the squeaking of sneakers on waxed-over wooden floors.

He felt his heart pinch and he forced himself to look away before the urge to walk in would be too strong to fight. Jaemin allowed himself to go through the rest of the floor, stopping by a vending machine to buy himself a crappy canned americano. He took a sip of it before continuing, almost missing the 127 practice room if it wasn’t for the sudden blasting of some new, rather upbeat pop song. He peeked through the door, spotting only three members in the room. He had to squint, but realized it was Taeil, Yuta and Johnny, running through some dance moves of a routine Jaemin didn’t recognize with a stray Ten on a bench, watching with mild interest. 

‘ _Why not?’_ He mused to himself before rapping his knuckles against the oak door, skin against some protective wax. He heard a muffled, “Come in!” and, his heartbeat erratic in his veins, he twisted the cold doorknob.

“Hi,” He said rather weakly, peeling off his cap out of politeness and pulling down his mask, and Jaemin wanted to punch himself for how nervous and timid he sounded. “I’m back?”

There was a silence that was deafeningly loud in Jaemin’s ears, and he briefly wondered if it was too late for him to simply run out as if nothing had happened, but before he could stutter out another awkward greeting, the force of another person running at him and jumping almost knocked him off his feet.

“Jaemin-ah!!” 

“Ten-hyung,” He choked out, hands hooked under his elder’s thighs to keep him stable. “It’s good to see you too, hyung.”

“Jaemin, what a surprise! I thought you were only supposed to come in on Thursday,” Johnny clapped a hand on the younger’s back and used his other hand to pinch his cheek lightly. “It’s good to see you, kiddo.”

“Thanks, hyung,” Jaemin re-adjusted Ten, who was still hanging off of him like a koala. “I’m glad to be back. But like, I’m not totally back yet. I’m just visiting today. No practice or anything.”

“Take it easy, a’ight, buddy?” Yuta smiled at him endearingly and ruffled his hair, then proceeded to peel off Ten like some dried up glue. “C’mon, you man child.”

Taeil, ever the kind guy, patiently waited until Ten was done babying Jaemin and then threw his arms around him in a comforting hug. “Welcome back, Jaemin-ah,” He murmured into Jaemin’s black Champion hoodie that he’d stolen from Mark a few years back.

“Thanks, hyung,” He answered back, just as softly, returning the hug with just as much carefulness.

“Have you visited the other kids too? Or are we just special?” Yuta grinned, snatching Jaemin’s hat and using it to cover his own messy brown hair. Jaemin glanced at him: Yuta-hyung, with his puppy smile, and the loose stolen jewelry in his bag, and his willingness to listen to Jaemin’s rants in the middle of the night, offering wise words from his books of endless kanji that Jaemin could only wish to understand. The younger boy suddenly felt a surge of affection for his hyung fill his lungs with warmth and tingle the base of his head. 

“Not at all. Nice try though, Yuta-hyung,” Jaemin replied in a rather coy voice, lips curling in the ghost of a smile in order to mask his upcoming lie, “Kidding. I just haven’t had the chance yet. Don’t tell them though, okay? I want it to be a surprise.”

Taeil nodded. “Yeah, sure. See you on Thursday, right? There’s a meeting for the next comeback. All of us.”

“Sounds like fun.” It really didn’t. Jaemin knew exactly how the meeting would go: the managers talking to the bosses about upcoming schedules, then the creative director talking about the new concepts with Taeyong and Mark interjecting with their ideas every once and awhile. He could practically imagine himself sitting in his seat, swirling the ice cubes of his americano around the cup with its straw, trying desperately not to fall asleep on whoever would be sitting next to him (usually Sicheng or Doyoung.)

Jaemin left the practice room, waving goodbye to his hyungs and went back in the direction of the elevator. He didn’t need to see the Dreamies; he knew they were doing just fine without him. Probably doing a V-Live or something - nothing he needed to be apart of. 

As he passed their practice room, he once again heard some boisterous explosion of laughter and footsteps. The music from earlier had disappeared, and Jaemin couldn’t quite make out whatever they were saying, muffled voices not strong enough to break through the soundproof doors as easily as one would think. He paused, straining his ears to try and catch whatever fleeing words that succeeded in making their way to the silent hallway, but to no avail. Then, the footsteps became slightly louder, and it was with a violent shock that Jaemin realized someone was about to exit the room.

He quickly, and as quietly as he could, made his way to the elevator, mashing the ‘close door' button with all his might. Right as a crack appeared in the door and the sound of overlapping voices spilled out, as well as a vague figure blocking Jaemin’s sight of the room’s interior, the metal doors slid shut.

Jaemin let out a breath he was unaware he was holding, eyes trailing on the light above the floor levels, watching as it moved from right to left, one by one. At some point, the doors opened once more, and Jaemin’s heart jumped into his throat. A man walked in, and Jaemin’s breath faltered.

“Ah, Jaemin.”

“Hi Yangyang,” The Korean offered a smile. “It’s been a while. Even since before my injury.” Jaemin’s hands were sweating. He wouldn’t want the other to suddenly cause a scene about his return, like he would expect.

“Yeah, I’ve been going through some tough training.” Yangyang leaned against a wall of the elevator, the one opposite of Jaemin. He almost looked exactly the same, but he seemed so much more mature than Jaemin remembered, and the realization settled uncomfortably at the base of his spine. “You know Jungwoo, Kun and Yukhei are debuting soon?”

Jaemin raised a brow; he was pleasantly surprised. He recalled late nights with Jungwoo over the phone because Jaemin wouldn’t be allowed out of his dorm room past midnight, back when he was still a trainee and his debut with NCT hadn’t been announced yet. Of warm meals served to him by Kun on their free weekends, lazy afternoons spent lounging on the couch and watching dramas. Of trips to the park with Xuxi early in the morning, getting pushed on the swings and coming back to the dorms just in time for breakfast. “Really? That’s good.”

A beat of silence. 

“What about you?” 

Another pause before Yangyang spoke up. “Dunno. No one has really said anything. But I think I’m being introduced as a rookie this year. At least people will know of my existence now.”

Jaemin smiled sadly. “Chin up, kid,” he hooked his curled index in the nook of Yangyang’s chin, to which he giggled and pulled away. 

“Gross. You’re only like, three months older than me.” 

“Can’t wait to kick your ass on camera when you finally debut.” Jaemin ruffled his hair and promptly ignored the Chinese boy’s indignant squawks of disapproval. Jaemin was particularly fond of this kid: this skinny boy that was the younger only one born in his year, cursed with a minor youth of two months. He remembered staying up in the practice rooms, drilling routines and complex steps in his muscles, Yangyang at his side, willing to offer any help or advice. He remembered inviting him over to his place to spend the night because Yangyang couldn’t stand spending another night alone in his apartment, his family hundreds of miles away. 

“See you, hyung.” Yangyang grinned, straightening himself when the doors slid open.

“Gross. Don’t call me that. I’m only like, three months older than you.” Jaemin watched him walk out of the elevator and into the hallway of the third floor. He stared at the back of his hand and felt a tremendous guilt - pity, even - weigh in on his heart. How was it fair that Yangyang hadn’t debuted yet? He became a trainee right around the same time as Renjun and Chenle, and even if it wasn’t for Dream, couldn’t he have debuted under an NCT U concept?

(Maybe he felt envious at the clear cut signs of Yangyang’s maturity, while Jaemin was still stuck in the past, clinging onto an expired glory.)

Jaemin’s brain buzzed with unpleasantly warm thoughts, an awkward fire sparking in his mind, when the elevator stopped on the first floor. He sighed and replaced the hat on his head. He murmured a “Have a good day,” to the receptionist and, in the brisk wind of the autumn day, Jaemin looked up to the sky.

He briefly wondered if he could ever reach it again - like he’s done once before, so long ago.

**one time he doesn’t.**

“How you feeling, Jaemin-ah?” Renjun asked, brown eyes staring into his own. Outside the waiting room, Jaemin could hear the audience chatter amongst themselves, which, at some point, simply became white noise to him. He wondered if it was supposed to feel familiar to him, or if it will ever be. 

“Nervous. Very,” Jaemin answered back, handing Renjun his mic pack, to which he took and helped him set up the cords. He felt Renjun hike up the back of Jaemin’s shirt and jacket, and the scratchy material of the in-ear belt against his lower back. He sighed and attempted to loosen his muscles a bit. “Think I’ll do well?”

“You’ll be fine, dummy. You’re gonna be great,” Chenle grinned at him, eyebrows rising to the base of his white headband. He fished out a gummy worm from Jeno’s open bag and popped it in his mouth. Then, with his free hand, he pointed to the accessory propped up on the bridge of Jaemin’s nose. “Though, it would be funny if your glasses fell off during the stage.”

Jisung snorted. Jaemin laughed dryly. “Ha ha. Thanks for your support, Big Head.”

“Even if his glasses _did_ come off, he has the grandpa chain attached to them.” Haechan chirped from his seat next to the vanity, the stylist picking at his hair. He leaned back in his chair, scrunching his nose. “It would lose its comedic value.”

“Or it would get all tangled up in his mic,” Jeno pointed out, making an apologetic face in response to Jaemin’s betrayed expression. He rested his head against Jisung’s shoulder, careful not to smash the his into the younger boy’s bony body.“It _would_ be funny.” 

“Don’t listen to them,” Mark offered a sympathetic smile to Jaemin, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. The younger one suddenly realized how much older Mark looked - much more mature than his vague recollections of a seventeen year old boy dancing to Chewing Gum. “You’ll do great, Jaemin. You’re meant to be on stage with us.”

Jaemin’s heart seized, and it took all of his willpower to avoid bursting into tears right then and there. The words sent electricity strumming in his veins, fingertips tingling with a staticky warmth that crawled from right under his skin to the junction of his neck and head. The room suddenly felt a bit too hot, but it was bearable. Almost welcoming, yet he couldn’t help the field of goosebumps that bloomed on his skin, under his white jacket, feeling somewhat like an awkward chill that shot through his arms and rubbed his shoulders uncomfortably. 

“Isn’t that obvious, Mark-hyung?” He replied with a coy smile to mask the unexpected vulnerability washing over his chest, an oddly warm frost that itched Jaemin’s back. 

“You two are being too emotional! Cheer up a bit, weirdos.” Renjun called, shooting them a sharp look and then taking a sip of his weird flavoured water. Jaemin scrunched his nose in distaste; no matter how long of a hiatus he could take, he would never understand why Renjun liked it.

“Hey, don’t call us weirdos when you’re drinking,” Jaemin squinted. “Grape flavoured water? Renjunnie, that’s so gross, how can you even stomach it?”

“Rude, I’m still older that you, punk!”

Donghyuck scoffed. “By five months, big difference.”

Renjun shot him a glare. “No one asked, Hyuck.”

Donghyuck blew his tongue and jumped out of his seat to run at Renjun. “You’re so annoying!” He shouted, pinching the latter’s cheeks. 

“Okay, let’s roll boys! You’re on in five.” The manager called from the entrance to the stage, and the idols answered back with collective sounds of acknowledgement. 

“C’mere, kiddos,” Mark shouted, draping one arm over Jaemin’s shoulder and the other over Chenle’s. They formed a huddle rather quickly, and Jaemin can’t quite keep the dopey smile off his face, even if he tried. “Ready? Yo dream!”

“Let’s show them how dope we are, fighting!” 

It wasn’t until ten minutes later, tired and slightly sweaty, blinded by the fluorescent lights shining on him, that Jaemin realized. He was afraid that his injury would hold him back, would prevent him from coming back and doing what he loved. He remembered lonely nights in his room, mind heavy with uncertain thoughts and ponderings. Would he ever be able to do this again? To be apart of something that had undeniably become such a fundamental part of him? He couldn’t quite believe it, despite living through it, experiencing the one thing that he’s missed so much. 

Jaemin realized that this, this was all he ever needed, all he ever wanted in the past few months. When he first saw NCT Dream walk on stage as six members, he remembers the world crashing upon itself and leaving Jaemin as the lone survivor, standing in the devastation. He had lived in that apocalyptic world for so long, yet now, muscles light with a heavy exhaustion, a dam threatening to crack and burst in his eyes, he smiled. He had survived, yes, but now he lived. 

Him, standing on a stage, next to his six other bandmates - this, this was his sky.

Jaemin had finally reached it, once again.


End file.
